by R E Swirsky
***
The sun was barely up and Michael found himself back in another rear seat of another vehicle with that smelly thing pulled down over his head. Daryl buckled Michael in, closed the door, and hopped in the front seat. Michael thought it odd that his hands weren’t bound.
“Just so you know, the child door locks are enabled, so don’t bother trying to get out. And keep that bag on.”
“Yeah, okay,” Michael replied and tugged down on the bag with one hand. “Where are we going?”
Daryl made no reply. They drove for a short while down gravel roads, splashing through puddles from last night’s storm, before turning east onto hardtop. Fifteen minutes later, the vehicle slowed briefly to cross a set of railroad tracks and accelerated for a further few minutes before slowing again. The familiar sounds of heavy, early morning traffic fluttered around, letting him know they were nearing a town.
“Lie down,” Daryl said.
“What?”
“I said lie down. We’re coming into town and you can’t be seen.”
“I’m buckled in. I can’t lie down.”
The annoyance was heavy in Daryl’s response. “Just fucking lean over, then. Get your head down as low as possible on the seat. We’re almost there.”
Michael leaned over as best he could, but it hurt to lean as the seat belt buckle dug into his hip.
“Where are we going?” he dared to ask.
“You need something to eat. I’m getting you something.”
“Where are we?”
“Just…just shut the fuck up.” He was angry.
The car came to a complete stop. He could hear traffic passing steadily by in front of him. It had to be a traffic light, and the only towns that made sense by the distance they drove were Calgary or Okotoks—possibly High River—but he remembered the railway tracks and knew it must be Okotoks. He had crossed the tracks hundreds of times entering town from the west. There was a sharp curve before and after the tracks. This traffic light would be the first one at the corner by the Royal Bank. Should he pop his head up? He started to straighten up.”
“Don’t you dare!” Daryl called out. “Two more blocks and we’ll be there.”
Daryl accelerated and drove straight for another two blocks. He signalled a turn. He made a quick left followed by a quick right before the vehicle rolled to a complete stop on a gravel lane. Daryl got out and opened the door next to Michael.
“Come on. Out.”
He grabbed Michael by the arm, unbuckled him, and forced him away from the car, finally shoving him down to the ground on his buttocks and pushing him back until he was leaning up against a concrete building. He kicked out at the insides of Michael’s bare feet, urging his legs apart until they were stretched out flat in front of him.
“Here’s where we’re grabbing food. What do you want? Bacon sandwich? Eggs?”
“Whatever. Bacon sandwich is good.”
“Coffee?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Cream, sugar?”
“Yeah, one of each.”
This was odd. Why take him out of the vehicle where he might be seen?
“There’s a drive thru here and I can’t have anyone see you inside the car. I’m going to drive around and you are going to stay on your ass right here. I can see you clearly from the drive thru so if you get up off the ground, I’m going to come back and run you the fuck over. Get it?”
Michael got it.
“Sit on your hands and don’t move a muscle. You even lift your hands from under your butt and I’m going to crush both of your fucking legs under my wheels before you even have a chance to move. Are we clear?”
Michael nodded and tucked his hands under him.
“I said, are we clear?” he repeated forcefully.
“Yes. Very clear. Stay on my hands.”
“I don’t know how fast these guys are inside, so don’t you dare move, no matter how long this seems to be taking. Got it?”
“Yeah, you may be gone a while.”
“Good. I’m getting in my car now. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
A few seconds later, Michael could hear the crush of gravel as the vehicle moved away down the alley. Everything went silent after that. Seconds passed like minutes, and it seemed like a long time had passed since Daryl had driven away. He listened for a car engine, wheels, or even the sound from a drive thru speaker or window, but he heard nothing. The only sound was the occasional vehicle travelling down the next road over, a dog barking in the distance, and some birds twittering in the trees off to his left.
After a while, there was a different sound. A soft, slow shuffle of gravel on his left moved slowly nearer until the shuffle was out in front of him. It stopped. He heard what was most certainly a child giggling and snickering before the shuffling moved off towards his right. He followed the sound with his eyes, though he couldn’t see a thing.
The shuffling stopped again. A distant whispering was followed by indiscriminate laughter. The shuffling started again. It moved closer until it stopped a few feet in front of him.
“Mister?” It was the voice of a young boy. “Why do you have a feed bag on your head?”
He didn’t want to answer. His heart raced.
“He’s probably retarded,” said another boy.
“No he isn’t.”
“Go away,” Michael uttered as quietly yet forcefully as he could.
The boys ignored him. “Why do you have a feed bag on your head?” one asked again. “Is it a dare or something?”
“A what?” Michael asked.
“A dare. Is that why you’re wearing a feed bag?”
“Feed bag…?”
“Yeah. For feeding horses. My uncle Malcolm has horses and he lets me help feed them sometimes.”
Michael suddenly understood the foul smell and his stomach churned.
“Is there a car around here?” he asked.
“There’s lots of cars.”
“I mean in the drive thru.”
Both boys laughed. “Drive thru?”
“Yeah. A friend of mine is getting food. He’s in the drive thru. Can you see him?”
“You’re weird. There’s no drive thru here at the gas station.”
Michael suddenly understood.
“Shit.” he muttered. “I’m sitting behind the Hi-Ho, aren’t I?”
The kids giggled again at him. “Yes.”
Michael pulled his hands out from under his butt and removed the bag from his head. Sure enough, it was just him and the two boys in the shade at the back of the Hi-Ho service station.
Daryl was long gone.
